Campfire Conversations
by Divine Dark Angel
Summary: A Dragon Age Origins-based series of one-shots and short-chaptered stories based around the original character Arya, a warrior of the Dalish who was chosen to become a Grey Warden and, eventually, the Hero of Fereldan. It is a mish-mash of prequel-story-sequel to the events of the game, since I could not quite get over some of the plot bunnies that have plagued me.
1. Arya Interupted

Title: Campfire Conversations

Author: Divine Dark Angel

Summary: A Dragon Age Origins-based series of one-shots and short-chaptered stories based around the original character Arya, a warrior of the Dalish who was chosen to become a Grey Warden and, eventually, the Hero of Fereldan. It is a mish-mash of prequel-story-sequel to the events of the game, since I could not quite get over some of the plot bunnies that have plagued me since I completed the play-through. This is my first foray into the DA genre, so please forgive any minor issues with Codex. I will do my best to keep all of the facts as straight as I can. I am writing this mostly for my own pleasure, and if you enjoy it as well please review and tell me so!

Rating: Anywhere from K-M, rating will be posted on the top of the story.

Pairing: Arya x Alistair (I can't help it, he's so damn perfect!)

Disclaimer: All characters that you recognize belong to and are copywrite of BioWare. The recognizable plot items and other such things are also copyrighted to BioWare. I am simply playing in the rich world they have created for us.

* * *

Title: Arya Interrupted

Rating: T, for depressing thoughts (really, it's DA. There's always some kind of depressing thought going on)

* * *

Arya Mahariel, one of the Dalish who roamed the lands un-fettered to a specific location, looked up at her Keeper with confusion in the dark forest green of her large eyes. Only seven summers old, she did not understand what her Keeper meant when she had pulled the youngling from the circle to explain that her parents would not be returning from the hunt they had embarked on three days prior. To her young mind this simply meant that her parents would be late, perhaps delayed until the winter snows. The Keeper had sighed deeply and placed a hand on the young female's shoulder, telling her that she would be sharing a landship with Merrill for the foreseeable future.

Young Arya had been ecstatic when this news was spoken, for she and Merrill were as close as sisters. With a short bow to the Keeper she had sprinted back to the fireside to plonk down next to Merrill to share the news with her and received the joyful hug the other young female gifted her. They planned all of the fun things that they would do with their free time, when young Merrill was not learning her place as First and Arya her skills as a future Hunter for the Sabrae clan.

This time passed in blissful ignorance of the true reason Arya shared young Merrill's landship until the first snows of the winter of Arya's eighth year fell to the ground. The young female approached the Keeper shyly and tugged her skirt to get her attention.

"Keeper?" Her soft voice queried from near the taller female's hip.

"Yes child?"

"When are my parents going to return? I miss them and our Halla is pulling someone else's landship. Why have they not returned yet?" Arya looked up at her Keeper and was surprised when the dignified female knelt to look into her eyes. She brushed the deep auburn hair behind the child's ear and a look of deep sadness crossed her face.

"Oh child, I knew you were too young to understand the first time I told you of this. Your parents are gone to the after and you will not see them again until you are taken into the arms of the gods as well. It will be many years yet for you, and so you must grow and learn with Merrill and with your teachers. Your parents gave their lives for the safety of this clan and there is great honor in that. Do you understand?" The Keeper's voice was soft as she explained again to the child who had thought her parents simply missing that she would not see them again in this life.

Arya stood still as a deer that has scented the hunter. Her large green eyes widened and tears began to form in the corners. She tried vainly to hold them in, but as she bade the Keeper farewell and made for the cover of the trees a silver trail began that she was helpless to stop. Making it safely to the shelter of one of the sylvan oaks, she curled in the cradle of its roots and let the tears fall. She finally understood that her dear parents would not return to her, would not see her receive her vallaslin or take her place in the clan. She cried for the lost time she should have had with the two people who should have been there to teach and train her in the craft of her clan, and when she had reached the end of her tears she said a prayer to the gods to watch over them safely until she could return to their side to do so for them.

When no more tears would come, she stood from her nest among the roots of the sylvan tree and wiped her face off on the soft leather tunic she wore over her breeches. She had lessons with her craft-brother Tamlen soon and it would not do to let him see her cry. With a determined stride she returned to the camp, nodding to the Keeper's inquisitive look and retrieving her practice bow from the landship she and Merrill shared. At her sib's look she smiled and waved her off before turning to cross the clearing to the practice yard.

Tamlen waited there with the old Hunter who trained them, impatient as always to get started. Arya strung her bow under her tutor's watchful eye and stepped to her designated practice target. With the practice arrows head first in the soft ground before her, she took ten shots. Five of which hit the target and the rest dropped harmlessly to the side. A scowling look crossed her face as she waited for Tamlen to take his shots before she went to retrieve her arrows. A through tongue lashing from her Hunt Master the last time she went out without regard to her fellow pupils' aim had trained her well to ensure the practice yard clear of any shots going amiss.

Tamlen made all of his shots hit the target and laughed when he saw her face, "Awe cheer up da'lin! I've been at this a good deal longer than you have!"

"You're only two summers older than I am Tamlen, you are not a grey beard yet!" Arya responded, trudging out to retrieve her arrows. She knew the Hunt Master would not allow her to return to the landship until her shots were hitting the target every time. A poorly placed shot could result in quarry that suffered or got away, and their clan needed all the prey that their hunter's could bring in.

Arya's favorite part of the Hunt training was not the archery, however. No, Arya shined when it came to the martial combat lessons taught to those who would someday be called upon to defend the clan should the need arise. As wanderers, it was up to the clan to provide both law and protection to its people, and the Hunters too provided this. Arya had shown at a young age that she was nimble and quick, and had taken to the study of the sword as a duck takes to water. The fact that she was small and slight of build was not a deterrent to her, and the dogged determination she put into extra training and arm strengthening exercises showed.

Her Hunt Master had even started pairing her off with some of the older pupils, since she had beaten Tamlen so resoundingly that he refused to step onto the training ground when she held a sword in her hand. The older pupils had mocked her at first, taking in the delicate feature she had inherited from her mother and assuming that this made her weak. Within a month she won more than she lost and the older pupils had developed a grudging respect for her.

When the time came for her to make her first solo Hunt, she tracked an elk for three days before bringing it down with a clean heart shot. Her Hunt Master was very proud of her, and was there to support her when she underwent her vallaslin. The marking chosen for her was that of Mythal, the great protector. While one of the more elaborate markings, she did not flinch or cry out when the ink was applied to her face. When it was completed, the clan cheered for her and carried her off to partake of the feast prepared in her honor.

She spent two years as a Hunter for the clan, and more than once served as its protector. It was she that the Keeper tasked with guarding the great landships as they moved from camp to camp, and it was to her that the other members of the Hunt looked for guidance. Though she did not know it, she had grown into the same beauty that her mother once claimed with the humor of her father. The Keeper often smiled upon her as she carried out her duties, though she was often scolded for her sharp tongue. Her Hunt-mate Tamlen grew to infatuation with her, and often requested to be paired with her on patrols. This is why the two of them were together when they discovered the trio of quicklings that would lead them to the upheaval of their entire world upon the discovery of an ancient artifact that should have remained lost to time.

One of them would survive the encounter, changed forever. The other was lost to the madness of the Blight, a thing that had been only a legend until now. Arya's life, already marked by upheaval, would again change drastically as she was taken from her clan and the life she knew and thrust into a battle to save what was left of her world from the ravishes of the Darkspawn. Fate was to be kind to her in one thing only, the Warden Alistair. He would provide the companionship that would be her solace through the storm of the Blight and give her the hope that there would be a happier end to their tale. These are the stories of Arya and Alistair, the two young Wardens who stood as the only two beacons of hope in the darkness of the Fifth Blight. These are the stories that have not made it into the history books, of those quiet times that filled the spaces in between the heroics and proved that even heroes are human….or Dalish as the case may be.

* * *

Notes:

Vallaslin-"blood writing." A coming of age rite in which a Dalish Elf acquires the facial markings of their clan.

Landship - a kind of cart pulled by the white deer-like Halla

Quicklings - also shemlen, also shem. Slang term for humans

Dalish - the last of the Elvhenan. They consider themselves different from the city elves.


	2. The Hunt in the Wilds

Title: Campfire Conversations

Author: Divine Dark Angel

Summary: A Dragon Age Origins-based series of one-shots and short-chaptered stories based around the original character Arya, a warrior of the Dalish who was chosen to become a Grey Warden and, eventually, the Hero of Fereldan. It is a mish-mash of prequel-story-sequel to the events of the game, since I could not quite get over some of the plot bunnies that have plagued me since I completed the play-through. This is my first foray into the DA genre, so please forgive any minor issues with Codex. I will do my best to keep all of the facts as straight as I can. I am writing this mostly for my own pleasure, and if you enjoy it as well please review and tell me so!

Rating: Anywhere from K-M, rating will be posted on the top of the story.

Pairing: Arya x Alistair (I can't help it, he's so damn perfect!)

Disclaimer: All characters that you recognize belong to and are copywrite of BioWare. The recognizable plot items and other such things are also copyrighted to BioWare. I am simply playing in the rich world they have created for us.

…..

The Hunt in the Wilds

Rating: T, for language and battle scenes.

Alistair wasn't sure why Duncan recruited the tiny female elf. She looked like a strong wind might knock her over, let alone a Darkspawn! The Warden's must be getting desperate for cannon fodder to be recruiting from the Dalish, though he supposed that she could prove useful as a scout since she moved lightly and had already snuck up on other members of the camp to eavesdrop several times since her arrival. She was a sharp-tongued sort, wielding her words like any other weapon in her arsenal. He was passing by on his way to deliver a message to the Mage ambassador when he overheard her exchange with the piggish man in charge of the supplies. The fact that she had a sword strapped to her hip and a dagger sheathed to the other flew right over the man's head as he addressed her as one of the camps many elven servants. The sharp retort she threw back in his face had Alistair turning away to hide the grin on his face as he carried out his duties.

When he actually met her personally the first time, he was struck by just how small she was in comparison to him. The top of her head came to around the middle of his ribcage, and her hands were tiny compared to his when she offered one to him. He brought the hand to his lips as he had been taught, missing the shock in her eyes that this human was kissing her hand! With a chuckle he had remarked that perhaps they should meet up with Duncan and get the joining underway. The quick nod she gave him in return had him leading the way to where her fellow recruits were waiting to go out into the Wilds to hunt Darkspawn.

After listening to Duncan repeat the lore regarding the Wardens, he took his three charges firmly in hand and passed through the gates into the Wilds. He was determined to hang back and see how the recruits did on their own, and who would emerge as the leader of the unit. It shocked and pleased him when it was the little female who took firm control of the two lumbering oafs that they were stuck with. He followed her as she hunted through the Wilds, her soft leather boots and well-worn leather armor making no noise in comparison to the full plate the other two recruits wore. She had eyed them with disgust when they clanked into place behind her, and that look had stayed firmly planted as they tromped out into the Wilds.

Alistair thought her heard her cursing shems under her breath as she flowed over the undergrowth and made no sound. He was in slight awe of her, and could see more and more why Duncan had fought to recruit her from her people. She suddenly swerved off the main path towards the pond, crouching near a nearly submerged tree and harvesting a bright red flower. She brought it to her nose and inhaled softly, closing her vivid forest green eyes and allowing a fleeting look of complete peace to flow over her features. In that moment, Alistair wished he was an artist to capture such a look.

All too soon the moment passed and her eyes snapped open. She caught his gaze and responded with a troubled look back, before tucking the flower into one of the pouches on her sword belt. She rose and glared her other two recruits into silence as she turned to address them, "You two are like childlings playing at soldiers, you make too much noise about how big your cocks are. That armor is too large on you and makes too much noise, you should have had it fitted before we left. Now, any large party will hear us before we ever get into an adventitious position. Stay here while I scout, and try not to be distracted talking about the uppity knife-ear while I am gone."

Alistair had to hide a grin as she disappeared over the slight rise, a completely blank look meeting the outrage on the other two recruits' faces. They had just opened their mouths to complain when a loud scream in elvish had all three of them coming over the hill. At the top they paused as they beheld their companion locked in battle with a large Hurlock, by the look of it an Alpha, while several lay on the ground wounded or dead. The three humans stared for a split second until they heard reinforcements coming from around a bend in the road. With loud war cries they charged over the low hill and engaged with the reinforcements before they were able to come to the aid of the alpha. Alistair was unable to completely turn his back on the little Dalish, keeping one eye on her as he cut down the smaller gurlocks that had tried to come to the alpha's aid. It was not because he felt anything for her, he reasoned, but because she was a recruit and he was responsible for her. The fact that she was female and tiny in comparison to her opponent might have also had something to do with it, no matter how competent or how large her sword was.

Arya, meanwhile, was not as caught up in her fight as she would like to be. At least a third of her attention was locked on her companions. They may be shemlens, but they were also members of the Warden Clan she was to join. This was something she would have to accept, including the slightly odd younger of the two full Wardens she had met. He was handsome, she supposed, for a shemlen. Any further contemplation of the handsome shem Warden was brought to a painful halt as she felt the short dagger the Hurlock alpha carried in his offhand bite into her sword arm, immediately causing her to drop her dagger and switch her sword over to her off-hand. The Hurlock's eyes widened as her grin turned blood thirsty, the momentary pause as he tried to adjust to her new sword arm giving her just enough time to run her sword through the underjaw of her opponent. She watched as the unholy light went out of his eyes and his body collapsed to the ground. The moment of satisfaction is short-lived, as her attention is drawn to the three male shems next to her as they let out a victory cheer. The darkspawn lay dead or dying by their feet.

Alistair busied himself collecting two vials of blood from the dead gurlocks at his feet, Arya watching him with curious eyes. When he approached her kill, the massive Hurlock alpha, he withdrew a third vial and held it under the dead creatures dripping jaw. Once he was satisfied he turned to look down at her and his eyes scanned over her for injury. Spotting the large cut bisecting her upper arm he cursed and tucked the vials into a pouch and ripped a large strip off of his clean undershirt. He grabbed her uninjured arm and yanked her to him, quickly striping her of her upper armor and dumped it on the ground. She resisted only briefly, unsure of what he was doing. His firm grip and a glance at those remarkable hazel eyes, had her quieting under his care. The other two recruits were talking softly to themselves as they looted the bodies for any useful items. Arya observed this to distract herself from the feel of Alistair's large hands tenderly wiping the wound clean and flinching as he poured a caustic healing potion over the gash. She tensed as the soft cloth was wound around her bicep and tied with a quick knot.

Alistair's voice came out soft as he bent to look into her eyes, "You should get that looked at by either a mage or a healer when we return to camp. It does us no good to have you handicapped. That is your sword arm is it not?"

"I can fight just as well with either arm Warden. It is nothing to concern yourself with." Arya kept the pride out of her voice, her Hunt master had beaten that pride out of her more than once in the ring.

"It concerns me either way milady. I would not like to lose the most promising of our recruits to something that can be easily fixed. In the future, please do not go gallivanting off on adventures without me alright? I don't think Duncan would be too happy with either of us."

Arya smiled slightly, the image of the dignified older Warden scowling at her in disapproval one she was already well familiar with. The Warden had been puzzled by some of her elvish customs as they travelled to the camp from her home clan. The little wolf statue she kept with her was always placed facing away from camp, and the woven token she kept tied to her pack was touched with reverence every morning. She had not spoken to Duncan of the reasons behind these items, and he had not asked. The quiet regard that the two of them had sparked was calming as she struggled with being away from her Clan for the first time, ever.

"You are correct Warden. Duncan would not approve. Very well, direct me to the healer upon our return. Thank you for your care, Alistair. If you please, we may return to camp."


	3. The Witch of the Wilds

Title: Campfire Conversations

Author: Divine Dark Angel

Summary: A Dragon Age Origins-based series of one-shots and short-chaptered stories based around the original character Arya, a warrior of the Dalish who was chosen to become a Grey Warden and, eventually, the Hero of Fereldan. It is a mish-mash of prequel-story-sequel to the events of the game, since I could not quite get over some of the plot bunnies that have plagued me since I completed the play-through. This is my first foray into the DA genre, so please forgive any minor issues with Codex. I will do my best to keep all of the facts as straight as I can. I am writing this mostly for my own pleasure, and if you enjoy it as well please review and tell me so!

Rating: Anywhere from K-M, rating will be posted on the top of the story.

Pairing: Arya x Alistair (I can't help it, he's so damn perfect!)

Disclaimer: All characters that you recognize belong to and are copywrite of BioWare. The recognizable plot items and other such things are also copyrighted to BioWare. I am simply playing in the rich world they have created for us.

…..

Title: Witch of the Wilds

Rating: T, for language, murder, and hints of adult situations

The Young Warden was not pleased when they returned to camp and Arya swerved away from the healer's tent and towards the rough kennels set up to house the ill hounds. She approached the hound master and spoke softly with him. Hearing his reply, she reached into her pocket and produced the flower she retrieved from the wilds and offered it to him. His profuse thanks was evident on his face as he spoke with her, and her tender gaze moved over the panting hounds in a tentative hope. The hound master spoke to her again, and then shooed her off towards the healer's tent with a smile. She bowed slightly to him and made her way over to where the healer's had placed their tent.

Alistair sighed and made his way behind her. She was taken quickly to one of the cots and sat down on it while she waited. He had helped her replace her upper armor out in the wilds before insisting they return to the camp to get her arm looked at. The look of sheer frustration she had shot him made him smirk at her as she marched back to camp with her spine ramrod straight. He knew that she wanted to complete the other task that Duncan had given them, but he was more concerned with getting her joined and getting her taint under control. He didn't want to even think about the risk they were running if the joining didn't work for her, knowing that they would have to…..no. She would survive the joining and be his fellow, he would accept no other outcome.

Grinning at her he plopped down next to her on the cot and started unbuckling the straps of her armor. When she jerked away from his hands with a scowl on her face he lifted them up in a sign of surrender, "Just thought that you'd rather have my help taking that bit off before the healer gets here and cuts it off. Don't mind me, I'll wait."

Arya stared at the strange shemlen Warden before relaxing slightly and shifting back into her original place, "Thank you she-Warden. I appreciate the assistance and my armor does as well."

Alistair grinned at her again and lowered his hands back to the buckles holding the gambeson on her shoulder. He slid the supple leather out of the metal buckles, marveling at how soft the leather felt under his fingers. The set of armor was obviously well cared for, though old it was polished and rubbed with oil to prevent it from making noise as she moved. He reverently set the piece down and moved to the breast plate, his fingers brushing her sides as he slid the straps out of their moorings. She shivered, inhaling sharply when he worked the breastplate free and set it down.

"Oh! I'm sorry, did I hurt you?" His warm eyes, so unlike those of her people, moved over her with concern.

"I am fine Warden, thank you for your help." Arya found that she couldn't meet his eyes, focusing instead on inspecting the binding on her arm as the healer came back into the tent.

Wynne cleared her throat and glared at the two young people sitting on the cot, "And what have you two been up to that requires a healer's care? I thought you supposed to be _watching_ the recruits young Warden? Not leading them off to be slaughtered by darkspawn?"

Alistair cleared his throat and looked at the floor, not looking up at her. He felt Arya tense beside him before her voice snapped out into the chill of early evening, "The Warden did as he was ordered mage, there's no need to reprimand him for my errors. IF you must scold someone, you may address me."

Wynne stepped back in shock for a moment, the force of the young elf's glare driving her backwards. Setting her mouth in a firm line, she met the younger woman's glare with her own and stepped forward to untie the makeshift bandage and inspect the gash. "No need to be rude young lady, I was simply asking. I'll have this settled momentarily and you can be on your way back to getting yourselves butchered like pigs at market."

Arya bit back a retort as a sting of healing magic smacked into her arm. She grit her teeth, knowing that the mage was repaying her earlier tone with painful healing now. Locking her jaw and staring hard at the tent pole in front of her helped, but when she felt the tentative brush of fingers over her own clenched fist she locked eyes with the young Warden next to her and found there a much better relief than the tent pole. It lasted much longer than she would have expected, the pain not easing even after the mage lifted her hand. Arya stiffly inclined her head in thanks and gathered her discarded armor as she stiffly walked out of the tent towards her own smaller tent over on the Warden side of the camp. Alistair trailed after her, watching as she retrieved a lighter set of armor from her storage chest and donned it. Her fingers fumbled the tiny latched on the sides and he moved forward to help her without thinking about it.

It was a testimony to how badly her arm hurt that she didn't protest his help and instead allowed him to finish his task quietly. Turning to him, she pinned him with her vivid green eyes and informed him in no uncertain terms that she was going after those treaties and he could come or stay here. Alistair laughed and trailed her back to the gates, waving over the other two recruits to join them. Her look of brief disgust flitted over her face before she disappeared out of the gate.

Arya was getting irritated. Her arm still hurt from the mage's gentle ministrations, those two bumbling idiots were jabbering behind her like two old hens, and she felt watched. Oh, she knew the Warden was watching her, but this felt different…..more cautious than Alistair's open gaze. She scanned the tree line for any movement and caught a fleeting shape out of the corner of her eye. She heard the two buffoons behind her exclaim and brought her wavering attention back to the road. Seeing the remains of what had to be the fort, she moved into the clearing to see a shattered chest in the back corner. Picking through it, she found that it was empty, whatever treasures it held long gone. Turning to consult with Alistair about their next move she heard a female voice begin to speak from behind her and whirled to face the new comer.

The woman before her seemed young, perhaps in her twentieth summer. Black hair pulled up into a disheveled bun, indecent robes baring more skin than they hid and baubles circling her neck like a magpie. She tilted her head and asked again, "What say you, hmm? Scavenger or intruder?"

Arya felt the recruits bristle, one of them muttering about something called a witch of the wilds. Considering, she replied "I am neither. The Grey Wardens once owned this tower, I am here to reclaim something we have lost"

The mage tilted her head and replied, "Tell me your name, and I shall tell you mine."

"I am called Arya. A pleasure to meet you," Arya, having learned nothing but that shemlens responded best to politeness and found it was no different with this strange shemlen. "Would you please return the treaties to us?"

"I will not, for 'twas not I who removed them. Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish; I am not threatened." Morrigan smirked, "'Twas my mother in fact who removed them. I can take you to her if you wish."

"We _should_ get those treaties, but I dislike this... Morrigan's sudden appearance. It's too convenient." Alistair leaned close to her sensitive ear 'whispering' to her his opinion on the matter. She winced, even in a whisper he was too near her ear for comfortable and she tilted her head away from the heat of his mouth.

She turned back to the mage, considering. "Alistair, we need those treaties. Morrigan, if you would, take us to your mother please."


End file.
